


The Other Shoe

by Mari_Marie



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Joe thinks Nicky is hiding an unhealed injury, M/M, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Worried Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, but is he?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Marie/pseuds/Mari_Marie
Summary: Joe has never been concerned about his own immortality and is convinced death refuses to take Booker out of spite. Nile is not a concern, either; too new as Andy had pointed out that first night around the dinner table. But Nicky…
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 232





	The Other Shoe

Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a tiresome way to live.

Joe knows that’s what he’s doing, though. He feels the constant tension in the tightness of his muscles. His thoughts plagued by expectant dread. His days and nights haunted by one echoing question: If Andy has lost her immortality, who’s next?

Joe has never been concerned about himself and is convinced death refuses to take Booker out of spite. Nile is not a concern, either; _too new_ as Andy had pointed out that first night around the dinner table. But Nicky…

Losing him has always been Joe’s greatest fear. The one worst case scenario he’s never allowed himself to dwell on. Until now. This routine he’s repeated countless times interrupted by a startling revelation.

There in the hamper is Nicky’s shirt. The one he was wearing earlier. Its sleeves had covered the length of his arms when he had started preparing their evening meal, but the cuffs had been rolled up by the time they had sat to eat. At the time, Joe hadn’t thought anything of it, had never suspected _this_ secret was hidden in the folds of the bunched fabric.

He sees it now, though, and drops his own shirt to the floor as he reaches for Nicky’s stained clothing; his heart pounding with panic when he gets a closer look at the unmistakable crimson smeared along the edge of both cuffs, then streaked past the wrist on both sleeves. The color is vibrant with recent infliction while the saturation implies a wound – or wounds? – that did not immediately heal.

Joe’s mind rewinds the evening, trying to pinpoint when this happened, but he can’t recall a single hiss of pain. No grunt of annoyance followed by the silence of realization. Not a flinch. Nothing. Nicky’s rhythmic chopping had never stuttered to a stop.

Joe glances at the bathroom mirror, holding his reflection’s gaze as if it knows something he doesn’t. He wonders how he missed this. He wonders why Nicky didn’t tell him. He wonders if leaving the shirt in plain view _is_ Nicky telling him; some things easier done than said.

Joe shakes his head as he rubs the fabric between his fingers. Denial is the first stage of grief, but this entire scenario feels…off. If Nicky twitches in his sleep, Joe is aware of it. He’s aware of anything that impacts his Nicolo, which is why he’s doubtful an injury leaving _this_ much evidence would go unnoticed. He would _know_ if Nicky was hurt, if he had stopped healing, if his blood had refused to stem.

That’s the other part that doesn’t add up. Joe has seen – and spilled – Nicky’s blood enough times to know its exact shade of red. And this isn’t it. It doesn’t smell like Nicky’s blood, either. Doesn’t coat his fingers and stain his own skin the way Joe knows it should. So…

“What is this?” he demands as he enters their bedroom. His tone and the way he’s holding the shirt more accusatory than he intended.

Nicky shifts his attention from his book to his husband.

“This,” Joe says, seeing the confusion on Nicky’s face as he approaches the bed. He points at the stains that caused an existential crisis down the hall. “What is _this?_ ”

“Beet juice.”

From the roasted beets they had at dinner. Joe remembers now, but the answer is still funnier than it should be. The kind of inexplicable humor that accompanies overwhelming relief.

Nicky frowns at Joe’s laughter. “That…amuses you?”

“It does,” Joe replies, tossing the shirt to the corner before rubbing his hands over his face. “At first, I thought it was blood.”

_Your_ blood.

Nicky’s frown deepens. “Yusuf.”

“I know.” Joe sighs and crawls into bed. “It was foolish.”

“No. It was understandable.”

Joe hums at that and gathers Nicky in his arms. Breathes in his scent. Feels his warmth, his solid presence. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets, their heads on the same pillow. It’s familiar and soothing and safe. All the qualities of home existing in a person, not a place.

Joe tightens his embrace even as he tries to imagine laying here alone. His arms empty, his Nicky gone. It’s a terrifying thought that may be closer to reality than either of them realizes. While they have always said they would depart this life together or not at all, they can’t be certain since the choice doesn’t seem to be theirs to make. What if Nicky is the first to lose their gift? What if Nicky is the first to die? What if –

“How am I to sleep when you are thinking so loudly?”

Joe chuckles at the gentle admonishment, his smile lingering as Nicky nuzzles against his neck. “I’m sorry, my love. I will be quiet.”

“It is not your silence I want.” Nicky raises his head, his pale eyes a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds them. “I want you to be at peace.”

It’s one of Nicky’s favorite blessings – _peace be with you_ – and represents all that Nicky is: genuine, loving, kind. Joe could recite poetic speeches for the rest of their lives and never reach the end of the list of attributes he adores about this man.

“I love you.”

Nicky ghosts a smile. “And I, you. But your restlessness is troubling.”

Joe nods, knowing Nicky can sense his inner turmoil.

“We should live while we are alive, yes?”

Joe nods again, appreciating the grounding effect of Nicky’s words. The patient, profound simplicity of his wisdom. He leans closer, kissing those lips already so close to his. “Peace has been elusive and difficult to achieve,” he admits when they part. “But for you, I will try.”

Nicky brushes their noses together, offering comfort and reassurance. “That is all I ask.”

Joe smiles at the drowsy whisper and kisses Nicky once more before they both drift to sleep.


End file.
